Somewhere At The End of The World
by indiansummerchild
Summary: Max was a nomad, a Road Warrior seeking righteous causes in a mad world. But somewhere along the lines, he finds something he hadn't been seeking- a life he will do anything to protect. (Set before Fury Road: the origin story of the daughter that haunts him.) Max/OC
1. Prologue: At The End of The World

**In Fury Road, Max is tormented by the images of his daughter. So I wanted to explore that life of his.**

 **Let me know what you guys think! Reviews are always so awesome to receive! Complaints, suggestions, some love- all welcomed!**

 **I do not own these characters.**

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 _My name is Max._

 _My world is wind and earth._

His coat lapels flap against his chest. He leans forward against the guzzoline tank of his bike, the metal curving perfectly with the shape of his ribs. His presses his hand against the gas and the bike takes off against the remnants of a road from the old world.

 _I am a cop, a road warrior searching for a righteous cause._

Sand kicks up under his wheels as he soars down the road—maybe once a highway. He can see ahead of him, far in the distance, the peak of a glass building. What was once called a "skyscraper" in the old world. It is half consumed by sand, breaking beneath the weight of it.

 _As the world fell, each of us in our own way were broken._

He rides harder, eyes set on his destination—as it always was. He was a nomad in this world, searching for a righteous cause to fight for.

He wandered the endless roads, searching for a meaning at the end of each one of them. Sometimes he found wars, or petty gang squabbles. He'd leap into the midst of it, his limbs aching for a good tussle about in the sand. He'd save the obligatory damsel in distress, and bed her, if she desired.

The people called him Mad Max.

The sun began setting in the distance, burrowing it's life beneath the sand—like the old world had. It casts licks of fire across the earth, hues of reds and yellow, yet dragging the blue and black of death behind it.

The wind had a harsh bite to it, snapping at the exposed flesh beneath his googles. He pulled the fabric wound around his neck, up over his nose to protect of skin from the chill. Guilt sat like a stone at the pit of his stomach—at least he could still feel the bite of cold wind.

The glass building was half on its side. A pitiful, collapsed creature, half buried, half given up. His eyes filled with a silent excitement as he pulled up. He shut off the engine of his bike, toe flicking forward, engaging the stand. He pulled his leg over the guzzoline tank and dismounted the lovely, breathing bike.

His eyes roamed the sands, searching for any foot prints pressed into the earth.

Nothing.

His brow creased, and he quickly turned, glancing down at his own tracks. The wind erased them within moments.

He swiped a knuckle across his brow before lifting the googles from his eyes and resting them atop his head. He left the scarf wound above his nose, as the sun set deeper and the chill grew fiercer. Stepping toward his bike, he grabbed a knapsack that had been bound to the back of the bike, and hooked it across his body. He pulled his shotgun from its resting place, mounted on the side of the guzzoline tank.

The sun was gone.

He lit a flare, and began scaling the side of the glass building. The majority of the windows had been shattered, the metal structure still standing. And he shone the flare into the frame, gazing down at the memories of the old world, eaten away by time and wind and sand.

He moved from window to window, not stopping to enter the structure, not daring to disrupt the graveyard of an old civilization. It was a memorial in and of its own.

 _It's hard to tell who is more crazy…_

He froze at one window, still standing strong against the wind. He brought his flare up, but it merely showed him his own reflection. Brow creasing, he pressed his nose to the glass.

 _Me…_

A pair of eyes stared back.

His head snapped to the side at the sound of his bike being turned on. The engine roared. He stood up quickly, only to half his feet torn out from beneath him.

Hands grasped at his boots, his ankles, the hem of his pants. He tried to kick himself free, but was melt with the cold tip of a weapon to his ankle, and an electric volt rising through his flesh. Through another window, someone reached out and pressed a bag over his head. He writhed.

A blunt object met his skull and all went black.

 _… Or them._

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 _Thank you guys! Please let me know what you think!_


	2. Chapter 1: The Madam

**Thank you all for your follows! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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When he came to, no confusion left his mind a foggy mess—nor fear, nor terror. Instead, he took in his surroundings and sighed heavily.

It was a stone pit. Walls standing twenty-five feet high, the mouth a cage of metal and chain link. A make-shift prison in the sewers of the old world. The only light seeping in seemed to come from a gas light above the prison. Small streams of water dripped down the stone walls, pooling up against the floor—a mixture of sand and filth and regret.

He took his fill of the water. It tasted of rust and iron—like blood.

He had been stripped of his belongings, clad is not but his trousers. The stone floors were iced beneath his bare feet, the hair follicles of his chest and arms stood on end. He took advantage of the nudity and free water to attempt to cleanse himself as much as possible.

He could count in his head—something to keep himself thinking—but had lost track somewhere past an hour and a half, and only imagined it to have been another two before heavy footsteps echoed throughout… Where ever the hell he was.

He stood at the center of his pit and stared up. Somewhere peered over the edge, his goggles banded across the eyes, his scarf pulled over the nose.

"Those are mine," he growled, jutting a finger at the stranger.

A filthy hand reached up and pulled the scarf away, placing the goggles on the head. A female.

"They're no longer yours. I own them, as I own you," she spoke lowly, crawling across the caged mouth to sit above him, her legs folded beneath her. "But you may keep this," she said, pulling the scarf from around her neck and over her head, releasing long black hair, and tossing it between the grates. "And I'll retrieve your jacket. And your shirt, if you tell me—"

"Tell you what?" he snapped, gazing up, head pulled back, neck flesh straining. A cramp was forming.

She went silent, staring down at him. If he were but twenty feet taller, her could pull her through the grate and smother her with the scarf she had tossed down.

"From where you came."

He growled slightly, upper lip twitching. "I am from no place."

"Whom do you travel with?"

"No one."

She stood fully, the grates shaking beneath her feet—her boots too large for her feet. "You will be bathed and presented for the Madam," she spoke, crossing the mouth of the pit.

"The Madam?" he shouted, walking beneath her. "Hey!"

She stepped off the grating and disappeared. Max kept his head turned upward. "Hey!"

Her face appeared once more. "What's your name?" she shouted down.

He said nothing, and after a moment, she was gone again.

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It was yet another hour before heavy footsteps arrived again, and he wondered if it would be the girl. But alas, a group of men arrived, hooking nooses through the grating, attempting to snag him—like fish in bucket. Or barrel. He wasn't sure how it was said.

Eventually, after much sweat and dismay from the men above, electrically charged prods were forced through the cage and caught him while his back was turn. Enough power streamed through the prods to place him on his knees, the flesh steaming where he had been stuck.

And within minutes, they had him helpless enough to climb down and bind him before easing him out of the pit.

He got his first look outside of the pit finally, with prods against his back and his arms bound to his sides. They were in an expansive stone garage of the old world. It was lit only by the gas lamps hanging from the ceilings, and was frigid enough for the men surrounding him to wear jackets. It was apparent that they were well within the bowels of the earth, hidden beneath the sweltering sand above.

Slowly, the well-formed stone walls began to morph into the natural rock of the earth, and he was lead through tunnels. Eventually, they stopped in a small rock built room and he was tethered to the wall. Arms outstretched above his hand, a hefty gap between his legs. And they began cutting away his pants.

"Bugger off!" he cried, writhing in the leather that bound him to the wall.

He was doused in frigid water and scrubbed raw and was shocked by prods multiple times before his writhing finally ceased.

Finally, they unbound each limb at a time to pull on fresh trousers and a linen shirt that reached his wrists. He was left barefoot, but his scarf was wrapped back around his neck, and he was lead back into the cavernous tunnels.

They walked for something close to half a mile, and the air became thinner with each step, and he knew they were reaching the surface once more.

They pressed through a metal door and his was nearly blinded by the sudden sunlight, and it took longer than he would have liked for his eyes to finally adjust. And he stood at the bottom of what appeared to be a massive coliseum made of metal and stone.

The floor of the coliseum was what appeared to be a living market place, mulling with people and traders and barters and petty arguments over prices. And each level surrounding the floor was make-shift homes.

Max frowned, taking in as much of it was he could before he was lead into another tunnel. This time it was manmade and he was led up stone stairs. They pressed through one more door before they reached their finally destination.

It was a giant room overlooking the floor of the coliseum. No glass separated the mouth of the room from the inside of the coliseum, only a forty foot drop.

And there she sat, the woman from the pit, her back towards him, sitting at the mouth of the room with her legs hanging over the ledge. She glanced over her shoulder at them, then back at the city beneath them.

The men guided him to the center of the room, where a metal hook rose up from the flooring. His chains were locked down to it and then men left.

He tore furiously at the chains, blood rising around his wrists from the force.

"You'll wear yourself thin," she spoke, not turning to look at him.

He disregarded her and continued to yank furiously.

"The Madam will be here shortly. She is visiting with her concubines," she finally rose from the ledge and approached him as he tore at his chains, the sound echoing throughout the room. "She doesn't usually like man flesh," she grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at her. "But I'm not sure how she could deny you…"

He snapped his teeth at her hand, and she pulled it close to her chest. She fought back a smile.

He growled, but was unable to remove his gaze from her. She was a lovely creature, with ebony hair and olive green eyes. Her features were sharp, fierce. Her skin kissed by thousands of days in the sun. She was not chrome, free of trials—a silver, raised scar lining the side of her jaw. Yet he could not deny, she was something close to breath-taking.

"What is this place?" he growled.

"The Decklands," she said, taking a sit on the floor, far enough from his reach.

"And who the fuck are you?" he snapped.

Her brows creased. "How is it that I am expected to answer your inquiries, yet your disregarded mine entirely?"

He said nothing.

"I am Commander Rev. I serve under Lieutenant Commander Brute. And all of us," she motioned toward the opening of the room. "Serve under Captain Madam… Whom is coming to evaluate you."

"For what?" he snapped.

"Your seed," she spoke quietly now. "You are a candidate. She needs an heir."

As soon as the words had departed from her lips, the door opened. Three men shuffled in, trailed by the Madam herself.

She was a tall creature with a powerful stature. Her clothing made entirely of metal and feathers and leather. Her brow was dark, painted in shades of blue. Her skin thick and dark, her hair black and braided down her back.

She was a terrifying creature.

Rev stood quickly, her posture straight and rigid.

"The candidate," Rev spoke hastily.

The Madam stared down at him. "Leave us," she spoke to the guards, who exited hastily. She circled Max slowly. "He will do."

Max's eyes shot up to Rev. Her eyes slowly lowered to him, and he could almost see a remorseful look cross her face. And just as quick as it came, it was gone.

"Yes, Madam. I will ready him."

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